


Taken for Granted

by seamusdeanforever_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-26
Updated: 2015-10-26
Packaged: 2018-04-28 07:20:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5082820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seamusdeanforever_archivist/pseuds/seamusdeanforever_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>By Kaalee</p><p>"One day you realize that you don't really pay attention to the things you've taken for granted until they're gone."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Taken for Granted

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Cora: this story was originally archived at [Seamus/Dean Forever](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Seamus/Dean_Forever), which I opened in 2002, and which was closed in 2005 when the server that hosted it was closed. To re-open the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in September 2015. An announcement was posted to OTW media channels, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this author, please contact me using the e-mail address on the [Seamus/Dean Forever archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/seamusdeanforever/profile).
> 
> ***
> 
> DISCLAIMER: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. 
> 
> Author notes: ~for my dear, dear nimerha on her birthday.* Honey, you deserve the best and I wish you the most wonderful year to come. I feel blessed to have met you. You are full of such love, such wonderful sweetness and I'm proud to call you my friend. (and, for some reason, I'm ridiculously nervous about this story, so I hope you like it.)   
>  ~many thanks to tipgardner for the beta.

One day you realize that you don't really pay attention to the things you've taken for granted until they're gone.

And then you think maybe that's why they call it "taken for granted" and it's something you're supposed to do. Maybe if you don't take something for granted, if you actually know what an amazing thing it is while you have it, your heart might explode with gratefulness.

So, perhaps taking things for granted is a necessity of some sort, a self-preservation thing, you think, rolling over and pulling the covers over your head. You hope hiding within this warm cocoon will block out the thoughts that just won't stop. But then, you think that you think and obsess over things way too much, so you just close your eyes and let an uneasy sleep wash over you.

.:.:.:.:.:.

It's not easy watching them because you've heard him tell all the stories about what they've done, and what he's going to try. You've heard it all. Late at night you're all always up, talking about sex like you always do because you're sixteen and it's the only thing worth talking about. Well, that and Quidditch. You all talk about what you've done and you give each other advice, but really Dean and Neville are the only ones actually getting any sort of action, so you and Harry and Ron just sort of chime in with advice that you really have no authority giving.

So, when you see him brush his hand lightly over her waist as he's walking her to class, you know exactly what he's going to do next because _you're_ the one who gave him the fucking advice the night before. You see it happening, almost in slow motion -- well, it would be slow motion if the world could work that way.

He surreptitiously tosses a charmed pebble in her path and she stumbles on it just like you had said she would. You see his hand rest on her arse as he helps her up and then he throws a wink and a smile of thanks back at you.

It sort of makes your blood chill.

You nod, of course, and feel a tiny bit of muscle in your heart tear. Not to hurt, just enough so that it's a dull ache. Your aunt, who's a Healer, would call it an abrasion and tell you to take slow and steady breaths. You think it bloody sucks.

.:.:.:.:.:.

And that night when he doesn't come back until late, you lie awake wondering why you punish yourself like this. You stare out at the moon -- as well as you can make it out, as _his_ bed is the one nearest the window on your side of the room. You can see odd spots on the moon that you've never noticed before. _Like blemishes_ , you think. And then you feel them forming inside _you_.

When he tiptoes back into the room, though he really needn't because Neville's snores are loud tonight, you pretend to be asleep, even though the curtains around your bed are open -- your signal to each other that it's okay to be disturbed. You hear him come stand by your bed, hear him shifting his weight, can almost hear his thoughts.

"Seamus," he hisses and you know it's no good. You can't ever ignore him, even if you wanted to. You just don't work that way. So, you open your eyes, feigning a yawn, and say, "Yeah?"

He's grinning widely and the moonlight shines in, lighting his face in a brilliant, unmarred glow. You glare out at the moon and think, _Traitor_.

"It was _brilliant_ ," he tells you, still breathless. "It's so much better when a girl does it for you. Their hands are just... _perfect_."

You smile at him then, because you're happy -- happy, _fucking happy_ \-- for him and then you feel another piece of your heart ache -- this time like a pinprick through the center.

.:.:.:.:.:.

It doesn't matter to you that you still have your Wednesday night Exploding Snap game and your Charms project because you start noticing all of the time when he's not there, all of the time when he's not with you, well, with _all_ of you.

She gets up and leaves the common room casually and he leaves a few minutes later. People notice and make comments like, "I always heard that redheads were insatiable," but they look around to make sure Ron's not there when they say it.

You overhear Lavender say, "I've always wondered about his long _fingers_ ," and the girls all dissolve into sickening giggles and you suddenly feel a lot less warmly toward her. Maybe you've _never_ liked her. Maybe it was a spell that made you ask her to the Yule Ball fourth year. Or a potion.

Or temporary insanity, most likely.

They come back separately. Always separately. But you notice and everyone notices and no one ever says anything to them and you think they're all bloody cowards because... because, well, if you've got something good, why hide it?

Dean sits back down at your table and you ignore the shine on his lips and the fact that his third button is buttoned through the second hole of his shirt. You've never been one for appearances, but this, for some reason, makes you want to vomit.

.:.:.:.:.:.

Binns drones on in History of Magic, but your ears perk up when you hear him say _Ireland_ and _bloodshed_ and _so much strife_. You are reminded again of how interesting this class could have been if you didn't have the teacher who lives in a _wall_ teaching it.

You listen for the first time in six years because there are so many things that he says that flash images in your mind -- images from when you were younger and you can't even believe you're remembering an explosion and a funeral where people wailed like the wind.

Everyone around you is not paying attention; you glance at Dean to see his eyelids lightly fluttering, the quill nearly falling out of his fingers.

It's almost frightening to hear all of this in such a monotone. It's bloody and gory and you wonder how anyone can talk about it with such detached reserve. It was slightly different, you think, being somewhat removed from the Muggle community as you were growing up. You weren't removed enough so that you didn't see a lot of things, but now you feel a little guilty.

In the middle of class, Dean awakens with a start and looks at you in surprise when he notices that you're actually _listening_. He looks around for a moment and you see him relax when he sees that everyone else is in their trademarked Binns' Stupor. You don't look at him, but notice out of the corner of your eye that he looks at your left hand with concern. You realize it's clenched tightly on your knee.

You try to relax slowly, steadying your breath, but you can still see Dean watching you and you don't think he's buying it. Crimson ink moves over the page as you take more notes and you see Dean look back and forth between you and Binns and he stiffens suddenly, grabbing his own quill tightly and taking notes for the first time in _months_. You want to look at him -- _really_ look at him -- but you just... can't.

After class, you spend the rest of the day in a haze that you can't really shake.

.:.:.:.:.:.

You can feel his eyes on you in the library and you mostly ignore it because all of these memories are bothering you. You wonder if they're real and you really, really want to talk to your mam. It feels sort of stupid because you're sixteen years old and sixteen year old boys don't talk to their mam about things.

.:.:.:.:.:.

Later, he asks if something is bothering you and you say, "No."

He looks surprised, and you think it's probably because you've never answered him with only one word before. Dean likes to tease you that you give Lavender's mouth a run for its money.

But then you realize that you're not really fond of Lavender anymore, so you're glad you only answered in one word.

He starts again, "Seamus, is there something I can-" but this time Ginny walks by and brushes his shoulder with her fingertips lightly before she walks out of the common room. Dean watches her leave and stays silent for a long minute. You wonder what he's thinking. You wonder so hard that you think it dims the candles in the common room for a moment, but you don't say anything. This has to be his move, you think.

When he gets up slowly, not looking at you, and walks out of the common room, you think the ache in your chest might be because those spots you saw on the moon the other night have now migrated onto your heart.

.:.:.:.:.:.

At night you wonder if other boys think so much and have such reactions to things. Your father always used to accuse your mam of babying you and talking to you about feelings and that that would never make you a man. You wonder why things with Dean feel so off and you sort of wish you could go back to when you were eleven and used to tackle each other when things got too serious.

Now it just seems serious most of the time. Well, serious and _complicated_.

.:.:.:.:.:.

You stay away from Dean the next day because you hope it will help you get over what's bothering you. Neville is quite talkative when you ask him about the rip at the end of his sleeve, telling you about the Malodorous Megargle Plant and it's propensity for wizard cotton.

Laughing for the first time in days, you wonder when Neville learned words like propensity and when you learned to understand them.

Dean looks over at you from the other side of the table when you laugh and you miss him so much that your stomach turns. You see Ginny say something to him, twice, and then follow his gaze to see you. She is uncharacteristically reserved after that.

.:.:.:.:.:.

That night in the common room, you overhear Ron asking Harry why you have to learn all this crap about Ireland when none of you actually _live_ there and then Ron looks at you in horror and looks as though he wants to crawl into his shoe.

"Sorry, Mate," he says, "I didn't mean-"

"It's fine," you say, but you feel yourself paling for some reason. You know you're not angry with Ron. Hell, you've often wondered why you have to know half of what they try to teach you, but you can't quite put your finger on what's bothering you.

Dean comes over and sits at your table. "Seamus?" he says gently and you wonder why the sound of his voice almost has a taste.

"What?" You reply.

"Look, I've just been thinking about what Binns was talking about, and what you've told me about your family and, just... look, I want you to talk to me about it."

Something breaks inside you and you close your mouth against the flood bubbling up. "Well," you say when your insides feel like they've stilled enough not to drown anyone, "I'm having these thoughts -- memories, maybe -- and I don't know if they-"

You stop, because Ginny has just gotten up and left the common room. No one really notices their silent signal anymore, but you do. You sort of press your lips together in a muted smile and nod at Dean because you know that he needs to go.

Dean just looks at you and says, "Go on."

You finally understand why some people's facial expressions are described as "fish-like" because you can feel your mouth opening and closing in disbelief. Taking a chance, you glance toward the door and then look back at Dean pointedly. He doesn't take his eyes from your face.

"I want to hear about it," he tells you gently.

A few people notice that Dean hasn't followed Ginny and you hear a few curious whispers around you. You decide to give him one last chance to leave because your chest feels odd and your nose tingles like you're about to sneeze and you've never had allergies before in your life, "Dean, don't you have to-"

"I'm not going anywhere," he tells you and shifts in his chair slightly so that your thighs brush under the table.

Suddenly you can't really breathe very well, but you do your best. Opening your mouth, you start to tell him about what you remember and he listens. He listens like only Dean listens and you wonder if you _shouldn't_ take this for granted.

You smile, thinking this is a good start.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading!


End file.
